Metamorphosis
by LadyRedBean
Summary: He was her winter. His Veronica was his single glimpse of the coming spring.
1. January

He was the eternal winter, fields blanketed with stiff sheets of bitter, blue ice, drooping skies scarred with streaks of numb grey and purple.

Sometimes, if he lost himself deeply enough in their depths, he could see faint dashes of pinks and reds beyond the iron silk.

* * *

She was the eager but hesitant autumn, weighed down yet floating at the same time, brimming with surprises and forever teetering on the brink of uncertainty.

Yet there was a certain grace to it- a constant state of metamorphosis between the four seasons, a pendulum on a color-splashed surface.

Her spring came gently and surely, curious blossoming buds of pinks and yellows; her summers with exhilarating bursts of greens and mellow oranges and dusky, comforting reds, occasionally interrupted with sudden intervals of flickering darkness and fading color.

She learned to let go of the world during those hollow, paralyzed periods and to let herself _fall_ , waiting for someone to catch her just in time.

* * *

He was her winter.

His Veronica was his single glimpse of the coming spring.


	2. February

Everything is blue, grey, black.

He slouches in the very corner of the cafeteria, fiddling with the peeling plastic finish of the lunch table, lazily observing the humming bustle and babbling of the room—seeing but never really watching, hearing but never really listening.

J.D. never needs to study others' faces carefully, neither does he want to.

He already knows which people to not sit with, which people are itching for a fight, and hell, which people are secretly stoners. He knows, because everyone in every school he's been to shares the same, monotone palette—blue, grey, black, grey, black, blue, blue, black, blue... painted layer after layer, over and over again until it's formed a thick base of his own canvas. He doesn't think he'll need, let alone see, another color.

He wallows indulgently in this restless sea of blue, grey, and black, welcoming and sinking in its familiar ice, allowing the numbness in his mind to slowly fester until his thoughts grow hazy and he loses all track of time.

He doesn't need to think, neither does he want to.

The ice slides in and out, sharp spikes prickling briefly in his temples before fading into nothingness. It reminds him of the feeling of cold shower water battering his face until he couldn't tell whether the water had warmed up or if he'd just gone numb. It's always like this—he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Looks like the dump truck needs a load to pick up."

A sudden burst of nasal laughter slices through his daze and he jerks his head up, feeling pain shoot up his skull. The room spins out of focus, pulsing spots of grey and purple framing his vision, then stills.

He squints in the piercing artificial light, the dizzying waves of chatter and murmuring flowing once more from every direction to his mind again. Through the mist, he makes out three blurry figures clustered together a few yards away, whispering excitedly and pointing across the room at a round, pink-cheeked girl giggling helplessly over a wrinkled note.

 _Goddamn Heathers._

They move as one smoky shadow as they slink away from the tables, and only then does he notice that there's a fourth figure lagging behind them, smaller and hesitant. She turns back to look at the lone girl, her mouth opened uncertainly, and ignores the others' commands and threats.

Suddenly her eyes skip to his, and in that moment of brief contact, a spot of bright, vivacious ruby blooms in his vision. He grits his teeth and shifts his gaze away, staring determinedly at the yearbook poster on the wall opposite him, but the red pulses insistently in the corner of his vision. When he chances a glance, he's struck with a profound yet inexplicable sense of _familiarity_ , almost like something he'd sometimes glimpse in the bathroom mirror before glancing away swiftly.

It's a welcome relief, in a way.

Then the lunch bell rings and suddenly she's gone, taking the scarlet with her into the vast, hollow ocean of slate and ash. The red ripples for a few promising moments, lingers, then dissolves, settling like dust—present, but never quite visible.

He watches long after she's disappeared, watches hungrily for any stirring of _that_ red—the color of days long past, of bright embers dying in the mellow brick fireplace, of the park swing set, especially after a fresh rainfall, the color of _mother_ —

He blinks, and everything is blue, grey, black.

* * *

Tumblr: ladyredbean


End file.
